


A Matter of Principle

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9828473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heelsexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heelsexual/gifts).



They were not so much checked in as flung into an empty hotel room, presumably to get them out of the ornate and polished lobby. They might have had two reservations, but those also might have been for another hotel, so Cesaro didn’t really think it appropriate to complain. He merely accepted his credit card back from the slightly frightened looking night manager, dragged Sheamus behind him as he followed her and smiled warmly when she opened the door. Then he stumbled inside, stripped off his jacket and crashed face first onto the bed, bouncing up once before lying still. Sheamus took a different approach.

“Bastards,” he muttered, flinging his hat into a corner. He was less than steady on his feet and the movement took several rotations to equalize.

The night had started with numerous rounds to determine which was better, Kirsch or Irish whiskey. Unable to come to a consensus they had switched to Kentucky bourbon, a compromise that had made sense at the time. They had drunk far too much and, when the bar had closed, had leaned on each other during the mad scramble to shelter.

“We’re dancing, ‘Saro,” Sheamus had said, adding a jerky kick to his movements. “It’s our first dance.”

Cesaro had shook his head admittedly. “It is not our first dance,” he had insisted, but when pressed could not formulate what he’d meant.

“Fucking goddamn bastards,” Sheamus said and Cesaro, realizing he was still upset, turned to look at him. He did not actually get around to opening his eyes but he craned his neck around to put his face in Sheamus’s direction. 

“What is it?”

“Look at this place.”

That hardly seemed worth it, but if Sheamus insisted. Cesaro raised his head and took a slow look around the room. It did not appear to be trashed, already occupied or on fire. This was good enough for Cesaro, he put his head down on the mattress again. “It’s fine.”

“It has one bed!” Sheamus said, scandalized. “One bed! They think we’re fucking!”

“Of course they do.”

Sheamus shook his head. “Why?! Haven’t they ever worked with wrestlers before? It’s perfectly normal to share rooms. Why would they assume?” He was unbuttoning his shirt clumsily, sometimes failing to to find the next button in line and sometimes redoing the button he had just undone.

Cesaro rolled to his back in the hopes of getting above the swell of nausea that had just flooded through him.“Because all the tag teams are fucking,” he said absently. Yes. The change in position had helped considerably.

Sheamus didn’t seem to know how to process his statement. He stood with his shirt halfway down his shoulders, seemingly frozen. “What?” he said finally.

“What?”

“All the tag teams are fucking?”

Cesaro nodded solemnly, the back of his head grinding against the mattress. “Every tag team, faction, and stable in wrestling has been fucking since the beginning of time. Haven’t you ever had to use the locker room after New Day?”

“No way!” Sheamus sputtered briefly. “Not all of them. Not…” he considered the roster with displeasure, then threw his shirt onto the floor. “What about the Usos?”

Cesaro shrugged. “I don’t watch Smackdown.”

“Well, why aren’t we fucking?”

“Because you hate me,” Cesaro reminded him kindly.

“But I’m so good looking!”

Cesaro cracked open an eyelid to appraise him. Sheamus was topless, ghastly pale, confused and flushed in the cheeks from too much alcohol. Cesaro shrugged. “You’re not really my type.”

Sheamus fumed for a minute, then decided he could interpret the statement as a compliment. “Too macho?” he ventured. “Too muscley?”

“Too mouthy.”

Sheamus resumed fuming. He sat down on the bed, dipping the mattress under Cesaro’s legs. “Ah!” he said suddenly and Cesaro perked up at the noise, fluttering his eyes open. “I was in League of Nations!” he said, as though he had just remembered it and honestly Cesaro didn’t blame him for blocking it out. “Nobody was fucking in League of Nations!” he said with satisfaction. 

Cesaro blinked at him. “You weren’t, maybe.” He briefly considered some of the stories he’d heard about Barrett and Rusev and then decided to spare Sheamus’s delicate mind. Sheamus’s face fell.

“Everyone’s getting laid but me.” Sheamus muttered. He fell back onto the mattress and sighed. “This is like secondary school all over again.” Cesaro reached a hand over and awkwardly patted his arm. 

“It’s alright,” he said soothingly, stroking the muscle under his hand. Sensorily speaking, it was a pretty good muscle and the skin covering it was hot and soft. “You’ll adapt.”

There was a long period of silence, during which Cesaro let himself fall into a light doze, unaware of his hand still on Sheamus’s arm, faintly aware that they would sleep better if one of them got up to turn off the overhead light.

“”Saro?” he heard Sheamus ask, very quietly. Cesaro was about to ask him to deal with the problem of the light switch when he instead felt Sheamus’s hand leaning his weight on to the other side of Cesaro’s chest. He also felt the soft, exploratory breaths of a face close to his own.

Cesaro considered himself a very fair kisser and was slightly annoyed that he was not in his best form at the moment. His back molars were grimy with bits of bar peanuts and his tongue tasted strongly of bourbon.

Sheamus tasted really good. 

He shouldn’t have, Cesaro thought. He should have been as raggedy and sour as Cesaro but the feel of Sheamus’s open mouth slopping against his own and the wet slide of his spit on Cesaro’s lips and teeth and chin had him had him rising up off the bed to throw Sheamus onto his back and rising up in another way to grind against Sheamus’s thigh.

Sheamus ripped at Cesaro’s shirt and split it, letting the pieces fall to each side of them and get lost among the scattered bed clothes. Cesaro kissed him, too much teeth and sloppy detours across his jaw and throat. He got a hand on one of Sheamus’s legs and spread him out wide, pushing down on the crease of his hipbone.

Sheamus bucked, accepting his kisses but kicking out of the pin and tumbling Cesaro over again so that his nausea swirled and he had to swallow a rise of sick. He broke the kiss, shook his head and let himself steady.

“See,” Sheamus said angrily. “This isn’t going to work.”

Cesaro took a long steadying breath. He glanced up and locked eyes with Sheamus, letting the intensity of his gaze keep Sheamus still until he could throw him back down, bouncing, on the mattress and drag off his pants to reveal Sheamus’s pale and sweaty legs. Sheamus hadn’t been wearing underwear. He was hard and panting and his thighs were twitching under Cesaro’s hands.

“It isn’t,” he insisted, more quiet but just as viciously. “It isn’t…”

“Sheamus,” Cesaro said, wrenching Sheamus around to press him down face first and putting all of his weight on the backs of Sheamus’s thighs to keep him from moving at all. “For once in your life, my friend? Just stop.”

He ate Sheamus open, slowly and steadily, considering it a second chance to show off his oral proficiency and getting him so loose and wet that he could slide his cock inside Sheamus with only the lubrication from the condom in his wallet.

“Oh,” he said at the warmth and the heat and the choked back gasps in Sheamus’s throat when Cesaro thrust against his prostate. He hadn’t thought to ask if this was something Sheamus did, if this was the first time he’d known that feeling of stretch and fullness and deep pleasure at his core. 

The thought slowed him and Sheamus croaked “no.” A garble and a groan and then. “No, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

And here, at the point when Cesaro typically would have been lapsing his languages to mutter to himself he kept hearing Sheamus’s pleas and whimpers and told him, “Yes.” Told him, “come for me, Shea,” in sweet, easy English. Told him. “Come my darling. You look so good.”

Sheamus did and he did and then Cesaro did too. Cesaro eased out of him, throwing the condom to some corner of the room for cleaning staff to find. He held Sheamus close until their breaths evened out and they could swallow the emotions in their throats.

Sheamus did get up and finally shut off the lights then. Granted, when he came back to bed he took the dry spot for himself and proceeded to snore, but Cesaro simply smiled, considering it a fair exchange.


End file.
